


Best Face Forward

by threewalls



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Comeplay, Community: hc_bingo, Community: kink_bingo, Consent Issues, Flogging, Humiliation, M/M, Mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EXO M have just won their first rookie award, but Baekhyun might be the only person to understand what Kris really deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Face Forward

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to m. and Mec.
> 
> Completed belatedly for kink bingo's April mini-challenge card #5 "dungeons" - an X-shape incorporating "whipping/flogging", "master doms slaves subs," "spaces scenes and settings", "emotion play," and "torture/interrogation"... and "whipping/flogging" on my new H/C bingo card for the 2013-14 round!

Wu Fan is smearing moisturiser onto his face, spreading it upwards in smooth, practised strokes, when he hears the bathroom door click open from behind him. He's sure that he locked it, but that doesn't mean much in the dorms. None of the locks are very secure here, in case a manager has to reach someone in an emergency. But it can't be a manager or some other member of staff. They would already be talking; Wu Fan doesn't need his eyes open to listen.

"It was locked for a reason," he calls, fingers still moving slick on his skin. The salicylic acid in the moisturiser burns, but it's supposed to keep him from breaking out and he'll take anything that does that. He needs that extra security after tonight. 

Anyone stepping this deliberately softly has a plan. With the whole group in Beijing for once, his list of probable suspects is twice as long. Lu Han figured out how to pick the locks here and in Seoul months ago and taught the trick to enough of the others so that now they all know. If he's lucky, it'll just be Chanyeol come to collect on that time Wu Fan promised they'd get hotpot. Whoever it is, it'll be a prank, not an emergency. No one come to tell him about a disaster that needs _duizhang_ would still be so quiet. 

Wu Fan thinks he hears the door click again, locked once more. Maybe. He pauses bent over the sink, listening, but all he can hear is the running water from the tap. 

"Hey, what if I was taking a dump?"

Then a small hand grips Wu Fan's shoulder, and he knows exactly who it is.

And at first, he can only see Baekhyun in profile. Because even if his hand hasn't let go of its grip on Wu Fan's shoulder, he isn't looking at Wu Fan. Baekhyun is looking at their reflections.

Wu Fan looks like someone who got interrupted in the middle of his evening beauty routine, thin wire headband pushing his hair out of his eyes. He also looks exactly like someone who spent ten minutes trying and failing to be strong for his group on national television (and everyone on the internet, anywhere in the world) and another fifteen minutes backstage bawling his eyes out. Wu Fan's skin doesn't like strong emotion.

Baekhyun looks perfect. "What did you say?" he asks, in Korean. 

And that jolts Wu Fan back to being on stage, to being on the red carpet, and to blinking at how bright the bathroom lights are. Even in the Beijing dorms, translating for K is part and parcel of reality when K are promoting in China rather than vice versa, even if Wu Fan isn't the one giving Baekhyun translations. 

This isn't just the dorms, this is one of the shower-rooms, and this is hours after they've had to perform anything. Baekhyun's just broken in to interrupt Wu Fan's beauty routine for a reason that involves standing so close that Wu Fan can feel the heat and pressure of Baekhyun's body leaning against his. He feels Baekhyun gripping his shoulder, the scratch through the thin fabric of his T-shirt and how his knees long to bend. 

"Uh-- um-- it doesn't matter?" Wu Fan tries, but that doesn't make Baekhyun's knowing smile in the mirror waver or the heat stop creeping up Wu Fan's neck. "I-- um--" 

At the awards ceremony earlier, Baekhyun didn't have this dusky shadow covering his lids and liner black and sharp above and below.

Wu Fan exhales, surrenders, and translates. "What I said was: what if I was taking a dump?"

"I'd say you really are telepathic, then." Baekhyun sets on the counter two condoms, a small tube, and what Wu Fan has come to recognise as the paper packet latex gloves come in. "Do you need to first?"

Wu Fan washes thoroughly when he showers, even when he gets the shower last and the water's lukewarm at best. His own enormous fingers never feel like Baekhyun's. He can remember every time Baekhyun has had one, two, three fingers up his ass, that first time Wu Fan took three and Baekhyun let him beg to be rewarded with his cock, but it's so much easier to let Baekhyun have his body than talk about how it works. He's also very sure Baekhyun knows.

In the mirror, Wu Fan's face is blotched with pink, and he can't blame it on the moisturiser.

"No," he says. "I don't need to..." 

"Good." Baekhyun says. "I was saving these for a special occasion, and tonight you won an award, so..."

The full-body shock of it, the award, runs Wu Fan over all over again. The fans. His memories of the ceremony don't feel real. The water dripping down his face doesn't feel real, and his eyes feel too hot. He wasn't prepared.

"You weren't prepared," Baekhyun says, no, he repeats, softly, because he's talking to himself, too. And thinking. 

Somehow, this must be new information. Somehow, Wu Fan has given the game away. And yet, he doesn't feel like the floor's just opened up underneath him. This is Baekhyun. Wu Fan had no expectations of keeping his dignity.

Baekhyun likes girls. He just likes them with breasts jutting out because their wrists are tied to opposite elbows, or with bright pink lines that colour to violet-blue across their bottoms, and that's more of a scandal waiting to happen than wanting to hold a girl's hand.

Wu Fan knows, because once, quite innocently, he had gone looking for Chanyeol. Instead he'd walked in on Chanyeol's new roommate, the newest EXO member, with the circle of his fingers tight around the base of his cock and animated, pulsing purple tentacles arching a girl across the full width of his laptop screen. 

"Do you want to watch?" Baekhyun had said. "Or do you want to blow me?"

Wu Fan still jerks off sometimes to the memory of Baekhyun looking him up and down as he grew obviously pink, and blatantly hard, under that bright, assessing stare. It's the same look he gets now, when Baekhyun is suddenly staring back at Wu Fan's wide-eyed reflection. 

"Is _that_ why you cried?" Baekhyun asks, and Wu Fan watches him grin.

He nods before he can think about stopping himself, and inhales sharply at Baekhyun shoving his fingers under the loose elastic of his waistband, stroking the tightly wound muscles of Wu Fan's thigh and not the tent a few inches to the side. He's not sure if it's a reward or a punishment.

"You weren't ready," Baekhyun says. "I can work with that."

"On my knees?" Wu Fan asks, because Baekhyun wants to fuck him and Wu Fan would like to prove that he's not useless at everything tonight.

Baekhyun hasn't found him for this lately, hasn't been in the same country for this lately, but before it's always been on Wu Fan's knees. Even the first time, when the chaos of pre-debut reduced to Baekhyun's fingers tight in Wu Fan's hair as he fucked his mouth. On his knees. Wu Fan knows how to do that. He can do that again.

"No," Baekhyun corrects, and Wu Fan tastes the short rush of bile at the back of his throat. 

Sharp teeth and sharper eyes in the mirror tell Wu Fan, to his shame, that his attempt at stoicism hasn't concealed anything. But there's such bright self-assurance in Baekhyun's gaze that Wu Fan can't pretend he doesn't know exactly why he does this, when that sick, desperate itch that's been under his skin since he suited up for the red carpet has only just settled with his shoulder under Baekhyun's hand. 

"Over the sink," Baekhyun says. He reaches up, and Wu Fan has to shut his eyes. He can't look at his own face as Baekhyun touches it, as those slim, pretty fingertips trace down Wu Fan's cheek. 

"Kris," he says. "I want to see you cry."

And so, Kris strips out of his T-shirt and sweatpants, kicking them to one side. Baekhyun doesn't even take off his jacket. That's so normal as to be comforting. So is Baekhyun positioning him with light slaps on his bare ass, tapping him a little to the right, little to the left, as he tries to bend into place over the sink without knocking Baekhyun's supplies onto the floor. 

It's the crack of impact on Kris's skin that jars him. The shock in his ears, not the stripe of pain Baekhyun leaves across his ass. The throbbing in Kris's throat knowing how thin all the walls in the dorm are, that they won their first rookie award tonight. No one will be sleeping yet. Baekhyun's belt strikes loud, and Kris can't stop himself tensing in each pause for the next snap. 

The smirk cut across Baekhyun's mouth dares Kris to ask what the plan is. To ask if he really did lock the door. In the mirror, Kris can see Baekhyun's arm raised at the beginning of every strike, the fold in the leather strip, the dull glint of the buckle against his palm, but Kris always moves in the wrong direction.

The blows hurt. Kris's ass hurts. Someone might hear. Baekhyun licks his lips. Kris grits his teeth. 

He can't think like this. Heat and pain. Hard to concentrate. Pain and heat. He holds onto the sink.

He doesn't know how to move. He thinks he should.

Kris flinches, too, when it's somehow just Baekhyun's hand touching. Just his palm spread and touching over hot skin, touching bruises on bruises that hurt so much that Kris can't see the mirror in front of him, noise stuck choking in his throat. 

He's not hard at all, he thinks, when he can think despite Baekhyun's fingertips following the lines he's made over Kris's ass. He's not hard until he thinks to himself: what else has he seen in the porn clips Baekhyun links him with innocuous subject lines? What won't he let Baekhyun do? Not until Kris looks up and catches the hunger in the black holes of Baekhyun's eyes. 

Baekhyun presses his thumb against the seam of Kris's mouth, against his teeth and against his tongue. His thumb tastes salty as Kris licks at it, as he sucks, and Kris's lip stings as Baekhyun withdraws the digit across the bite Kris has cut in his own lip. 

"Don't hold back." 

"But--"

"We aren't going to get interrupted," Baekhyun says. "No matter how much noise you make."

Kris looks over his shoulder, to the door, and who knows who could be listening but that only gets another sharp slap to his rear and a shout shocked from his throat that can't have stayed within the four tiled walls of the bathroom. Or the next.

He tenses for a third, but it's only Baekhyun's palm again, hot in the centre of Kris's back, pushing him down. 

"Better," Baekhyun says, and that makes Kris hard, too. The word keeps him bent over even after Baekhyun takes his hand away. "But that was just the warm-up."

The belt buckle chimes on the tiles.

Baekhyun hums under his breath as he tears into the paper wrapped around the gloves. He wears only one. Kris can feel the scrape of his fingernails where Baekhyun spreads his cheeks open for a smoother, slicker digit between. He moves his feet wider, trying to guess at what would be the perfect height for the plunge of Baekhyun's finger. He can remember when this was not so easy.

"We debuted five months ago, and it's the same set of award ceremonies every year," Baekhyun says. "But you weren't prepared?"

"For an award, ok, a speech. Not-- not that movie." 

"I liked the fan messages," Baekhyun says. "Zitao told me what they said about you. _Nothing is difficult._ " 

He's smiling like he does for the fans, a cute smile, one that doesn't show how much more thrust he needs to finger fuck Kris now, to force Kris to take them through the drag of muscles locked up tight. 

"You looked good in the movie. Promising you'll all work hard, that you'll only show them your best side."

"They-- they think I'm so-- cool," Kris offers, and then suddenly it's two fingers, but even the extra burn isn't enough to distract Kris from the hot-cold flashes of pride and shame over all his exposed skin. 

"They don't know you like I do," Baekhyun says, two slim fingers uncrossing inside Kris. 

Baekhyun brushes too close to where Kris wants to be an accident, not with how many times Baekhyun's had him like this. Not with the knowing smile on Baekhyun's face. It's a smile that Kris knows from past experience that he cannot outwait even as the pain of the stripes and the ache of being opened jostle with his memories of the ceremony and the drive to give Baekhyun the words he wants.

"No," Kris agrees. "They didn't."

"Not before tonight." 

"Not before I lost it on stage," Kris says, buckling further over the sink. Because those were the magic words to get him a finger right on target, to start him babbling. 

That it was supposed to be their triumph. It was supposed to be Kris's triumph, leading his half of the group to their first victory, but that everything that's gone up on the fan boards is Kris losing his cool. 

That he's supposed to be strong. He leads the other members. He's supposed to keep them on message, but after that movie, he couldn't remember the script, couldn't remember what he was supposed to say even though he'd practised for the last week. He'd blubbered more out of control than Zitao, who'd told him about the fan boards, told him about from how many angles they'd caught his face screwing up. That Yixing had pitied him so much that he'd volunteered for the microphone. 

Baekhyun rewards words spilling from Kris's mouth with lingering strokes that keep Kris just this side of shooting off into the sink. He punishes by scoring his fingernails along the lines in Kris's ass whenever Kris thinks, breathes, stops doing anything but telling Baekhyun everything.

Like that Kris can still remember being so aware of the cameras on them, knowing he needed to look at the fans but afraid to look away from the ceiling, his pathetic gratitude pressing hot behind his eyeballs and trailing cold down his flushed cheeks. Off-camera, backstage, he tells Baekhyun, he'd lost what little control he had, sobbing into his hands, into tissues, and _that_ outburst was on Twitter before the coordi had retouched his make-up.

"You call this showing your best side?" Baekhyun wrenches Kris's chin up, forcing him to look up into the mirror and see himself pinned between Baekhyun's two hands. 

He has to blink, eyes stinging with hot tears he's already shedding. Baekhyun could be an airbrushed magazine spread next to Kris's blotchy complexion.

"This is what you want to show the fans?"

"No." Kris swallows, snorting mucus. It's all he can taste, coating his throat. He's so disgusting. "No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I--"

"Good boy," Baekhyun whispers and the words shiver bewilderingly across Kris's skin. "Don't move."

Kris's ass is too slick, too stretched to be a challenge, Baekhyun thrusting in with one quick stroke. He doesn't find Kris's prostate. He just takes Kris, and takes and takes, hard thrusts, the rough rasp of his denim rubbing raw against Kris's ass, the rim of the sink hitting across his thighs. 

In the mirror, Kris focuses on Baekhyun's face, eyes closed to dark-rimmed crescents and the flush of pure self-satisfaction shining in his sweat. It's all for Baekhyun, how open he has made Kris. He doesn't have to think about how hard he wants to be fucked. 

"Look at you. Better than I expected." Baekhyun pulls out with a slap on Kris's ass that makes him jump, a wet hiccup from his open mouth. "On your knees," he orders. 

And Kris is grateful, so grateful, to let go of the ceramic rim of the sink and fall away from what the mirror can see. He can't stop crying, acid dripping down his face.

Baekhyun strips the condom off his dick, still jerking it three inches in front of Kris's nose. It's the last thing Kris sees before Baekhyun demands he shut his eyes. Before he hears Baekhyun's groan. Before Baekhyun's come splatters hot and wet across his face, dripping from his wet cheeks into his ready-cupped palms.

And then there's the heat of Baekhyun's body so much closer than before, his voice so much closer than before, purring, "Oh, you are too good."

It's the only reason Kris can open his eyes after that, to Baekhyun on his knees in front of Kris. He's got his fly done up already. He looks flushed, like he's just been dancing, but his hair's only sticking lightly to his forehead and his make-up is still perfect. 

Kris feels like a wreck. He can't imagine what his face looks like now. He can't stop sobbing, though his tears are quieter now. His nose is louder, snorting mucus back down his throat.

"I'm sure the fans appreciate that you take such good care of your skin," Baekhyun says, dipping his long, pretty fingers into the mess that Kris holds out for him.

Baekhyun smoothes his own semen across Kris's cheeks in deft, upward and outward strokes, mixing with Kris's tears. Broad strokes arching above his eyebrows, light touches along the bridge of his nose. Baekhyun cups under Kris's chin with wet fingers, smoothing semen along his jaw line and over his cracking lips. 

"Do you think you deserve to come?" Baekhyun asks, and something in the pit of Kris's stomach tightens. His erection hangs blatant and enduring between his splayed knees. He doesn't expect Baekhyun to touch his dick, but sometimes he's told Kris to jerk off while he watched.

"N-no?" Kris guesses.

No amount of tears can blur the knife of Baekhyun's smile. 

"Next question: do you think it matters what you think you deserve?" 

Baekhyun holds his fingers in front of Kris's face, shining in the harsh bathroom lighting. Kris obediently closes his sore eyes, and as Baekhyun paints come thick across his eyelids, he exhales.

"You cried for me," Baekhyun says.

He grips Kris's shoulder, pulling him forward over his knees as he reaches around. Kris's hole is still loose from being fucked, still slick. Baekhyun doesn't tell him how many fingers, but it's not only one, and it's not just two, no matter how easily Kris takes them.

"And now you're going to come for me," Baekhyun says, and with just those fingers stroking in his guts, he forces Kris to shoot onto the bathroom tiles.

And on the tiles is where Baekhyun leaves him, in the warm darkness behind his eyelids and warm throbbing through his ass.

There's a splashing that becomes water in the sink. There's a whirring in his ears that becomes the bathroom extractor fan. There's heat against his arm that becomes Baekhyun's leg. Wu Fan is kneeling on the bathroom floor with thanks in his throat, but the words don't get past the semen crusting on his lips. 

Wu Fan leans his head to the side, against Baekhyun's thigh and Baekhyun touches his shoulder, just a light brush of damp fingers coming down from above; the words come back up again.

A warm, wet washcloth is draped over his face. He lets it sit there, just listening to the liquid and rustling noises of Baekhyun cleaning himself up. He doesn't need to look to be able to imagine Baekhyun above him at the sink, dipping into Wu Fan's supplies to wash and wipe the make-up from his face. The look of concentration on his face holding up a pinched cotton wool ball.

Wu Fan hears the stream from the tap stop, and reaches up to use the cloth to scrub over his face. The muscles of his face ache dully from all the crying but nothing compared to the bruises he knows will be coming up over his ass. His knees protest when he pulls himself to standing, holding onto the rim of the sink. 

He was right; all that's left of Baekhyun's eyeliner is a clump of black-stained wool in the trash.

"If you're good, " Baekhyun says, pushing away from the sink. "I should probably go tell Chanyeol I'm done."

Wu Fan can only stare at him. "You-- what-- Chanyeol?" 

"He's guarding the door," Baekhyun says. "I heard the locks here are very easy to pick."

There's laughter behind his eyes, but they seem more generous now. Somehow, now, the possibility that Chanyeol heard some, all, of this doesn't make Wu Fan want to be a puddle on the floor. He'd rather not get interrupted at this, would rather Chanyeol than Zitao, than any of M, and this-- whatever this is-- with Baekhyun has always been about compromise.

So, Wu Fan rolls his eyes at Baekhyun's grin, and turns on the spot to look for his sweats. 

He can feel Baekhyun watch him bend and step into them, pulling them up over the purpling he can already see coming up. They're not anywhere he thinks someone will want to paint them over with foundation, and he'll walk no differently if he takes painkillers before going out. 

"You haven't actually looked at the fan boards yourself, have you?" Baekhyun asks from behind him.

Wu Fan can see in the mirror that Baekhyun has a loose grip on the door handle, is leaning back against the wall. Even without make-up, he looks perfect, but the thought no longer feels like a punch to the gut.

"Because you should know that Zitao's been kicking himself that he's been crying since debut. Because the fan boards are more interested in you."

"I looked like a mess," Wu Fan says, looking at his hands, at the bottles that are lined up against the bottom of the mirror exactly as he laid them out earlier tonight.

"A hot mess," Baekhyun says, and Wu Fan feels again the heat on his face and the heat of his bruises. "I can't be the only one to think so."

Wu Fan hears the door click shut behind him, and he immediately ducks his head down near the taps, splashing lukewarm water up over his face. He'll need at least cleanser and moisturiser again, and a few more minutes alone.

He looks like someone in the middle of his evening beauty routine, thin wire headband pushing his hair out of his eyes and water dripping trails down his cheeks and neck. He's also smirking, at himself, in the mirror. 

A hot mess, Wu Fan thinks, and he finds he doesn't disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> Mirrored posts can be found at my [LJ](http://threewalls.livejournal.com/365601.html) and my [DW](http://threewalls.dreamwidth.org/237914.html).


End file.
